


seagrass blues

by Gooooothmoooog (Sharkchimedes)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Day At The Beach, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkchimedes/pseuds/Gooooothmoooog
Summary: sometimes, you just gotta get away and kick sand and vandalize your dumb older brother's high school yearbook.





	seagrass blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swilmarillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swilmarillion/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Follow You Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002765) by [swilmarillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swilmarillion/pseuds/swilmarillion). 



They needed a vacation, Gothmog decided. They had all nearly been killed at least once in the last year- except Thuringwethil, who unanimously was agreed upon as an immortal being incapable of being plotted against. Gothmog had been half set on fire and nearly exploded- okay, maybe he was exaggerating just a _little_ bit-, and Melkor had been shot, and then Mairon… well. They didn’t like to talk about that.

 

So, Gothmog decided vacation. It needed to be the farthest thing from urban jungle, deep contracting building, office vogue chic whatever that they could get. So, beach. Gothmog had a decent car, they could just take it and go. The company might burn down while they were gone, but between the multiple survived attempts of murder and a building already having burned down, goddammit, Gothmog was taking an actual fucking vacation, and he was taking the whole group of them with him.

 

Thuringwethil made for an excellent conspirator. They had an easy friendship, a lot of it built on keeping Mairon and Melkor alive and out of trouble. There was a shared base of general exasperated concern for Mairon, and an equally exasperated fondness and frustration with the living incarnation of a racoon in a trash can that was Melkor.

 

They met up at a different bar than they would usual frequent, just to be absolutely sure that their two friends wouldn’t run into them while they plotted. Gothmog pitched his idea, and Thuringwethil gave it a few minutes thought before she nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “I think we could use a break. Or at least, they certainly good. Although last time anyone tried to make them take one…”

 

“That’s why I was figuring on not exactly asking them.” Gothmog took a much bigger swig of his beer. “I mean, mentioning it, but I was thinking more like we tell them it’s some kind of important overnight thing, and then we pack ‘em in the back with the bags like sardines and by the time we tell them, they’ve just gotta go along with it.”

 

Thuringwethil thought and then said, “I think that maybe, with all that’s happened, we might be able to convince them to do it of their own choice. Or make them think it is.”

 

“Uh-huh. And how do you suggest we do that?” Gothmog asked.

 

\---

  
There were two plans.

  
Plan A: Gothmog would just complain, and when one of them finally got sick of it, Thuringwethil would sweep in and agree and they’d tag team them.

 

Plan B: Thuringwethil and Gothmog would put together a multimedia presentation complete with charts and graphs and business reasons for it with a flourish.

Plan AB ended up winning, which was a mixture of Gothmog’s groaning, Thuringwethil’s presentation, and a nasty car crash only a block or two from where they’d been out for lunch that had they been ten minutes faster in eating, would have probably involved them.

 

The terrifying reminder of mortality and the recollection of the events of the last year it brought drove everyone into Melkor’s office to work that afternoon, and then the plans were set. They still took Gothmog’s car and packed in the two Disaster M’s in the back like sardines, but everyone was completely set on the idea.

 

For one thing, they’d gotten Mairon to bring one of the models of the drone to test in sand, since Gothmog and Thuringwethil had sworn up and down they’d find a secluded spot that would only have the four of them on the beach, which satisfied his usual workaholic needs that otherwise forbade vacations.

 

The rest of them were just tired, or in Thuringwethil’s words: “even racoons need to sleep.”

 

They rented out a shitty motel room, ditched the stuff they didn’t need or want on the sand, and headed down the beach. Gothmog let Melkor lead the way, and then they all waited for Mairon to decide the final spot.

 

Everything was thrown down, and slowly worked through to set up. Lunch was eaten, and then Mairon and Thuringwethil began a construction project with a frankly unreasonable number of umbrellas and towels to create what was almost a tent while Melkor and Gothmog ended up kicking sand and salt water into each other’s faces until they could barely see and took twenty minutes tripping over each other to get back to their towels.

 

The drone case lay untouched, protected within the fort, but still locked.

 

As the day went on, Gothmog settled himself down and shut his eyes, dozing a little in the sun. At some point, he and Melkor got up and again, and Melkor led a beach-combing effort, though his primary interest was in finding sand fleas and ghost crabs, though he did pocket a fairly nice shell to take back and give Mairon. Thuringwethil was sitting back with a book, and she and Mairon had produced drinks from a cooler that were again, more complex than seemed reasonable.

 

Eventually, they got bored again, and headed back, sitting back down on their towels again. Melkor started rifling through his bags, eventually pulling out a thick leather book with a goldleaf engraving of a feather and a familiar name under it...

 

“Please tell me you _did not_ bring a stolen yearbook to the beach to throw into the ocean.” Gothmog pinched the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses. Thuringwethil was holding back laughter with a few choppy snorts, the traitor.

 

“Then I won’t tell you.” Melkor was grinning, the imp that he was. “Buuuuut I will tell you I brought extra sharpies to decorate a beloved personal possession, and it would mean _so much_ to me if my also beloved employees would help me with that.”

 

“Melkor, that’s _littering_ . What happens if you get arrested for littering?” Gothmog’s facade started to crack. The thought was ridiculous- they’d specifically picked this place so that a: no one would recognize any of them unless they were weirdly informed about contracting, which was unlikely, and b: so that if something _were_ to “go wrong”, it’d be easy to bolt.

 

“What if we get a big enough bottle to tear out all the pages and stuff them in? Don’t people generally ignore that?” Mairon asked, unmoved from the umbrella fortress he and Thuringwethil had created.

 

“Or we gave it a viking funeral. No one sees the lighting, and then no evidence. Clean.” And there went the only other sensible person on this trip, right off the cliff of vacation unprofessionalism.

 

Well, how did that adage go? If everyone else was jumping, you do it too?

 

“Alright, pass me an orange one.” He twisted a bit and was met in the face with a bronze and a orange sharpie. That bastard knew _exactly_ what he was doing, but Gothmog just rolled his eyes and grinned, scooting across the sand to reach.

 

A few minutes of their gossiping over the grainy portraits of rivals- “You cannot tell me with a straight face that Manwë actually looked like that!” “He did, I swear!” - and the umbrella fortress was suddenly behind them and Mairon was reaching for the red and Thuringwethil took the black.

 

It was a little hard for them to all reach the pages at the same time, seeing as the book was only so big- and between Gothmog’s bulk, Melkor’s continual jumping back and forth between casual property damage- “Weaponized vandalism!” “He’s never going to see it, you do realize that.”- and poking at Mairon, Mairon’s insistence on his contributions being well thought out and then perfectly executed despite the distractions from a certain man, and then Thuringwethil’s occasional reach overs made the whole thing a messy affair.

 

By the end, they had a far degree of ink themselves. Melkor and Thuringwethil had started to tag each other, though she was far better at it, and Mairon had started doodling equations and intricate fractals in metallic gold between the darker lines of Gothmog’s tattoos.  

 

“Anything breakthroughs there?” He didn’t pretend to have any idea what the numbers all meant, and Mairon hummed, inking another one to his skin.

 

The breeze changed a little, and they eventually ate a dinner that mostly consisted of half melted popsicles and unmetled smores, seeing as their yearbook fire wasn’t quite enough to burn the marshmallows the way Mairon wanted. Things quieted down again, and Melkor and Mairon stole off with a towel. Gothmog just hoped they were talking, and not doing anything else. He didn’t mind them, except when they were fifteen feet apart on a beach in the sand. Then it was just kind of weird for everyone.

 

Gothmog was surprised when Thuringwethil, when the sun was setting and she and Mairon finally abandoned their umbrellas completely, came over to him and leaned a little into his side. He moved his arm to put it over her shoulders, carefully letting her decide if she wanted that. She ended up just collapsing a little more into his side, and he let her. She wasn’t very touchy, but if this was something that would make her feel better, he was all for it.

 

A while later, Melkor and Mairon moved over closer from where they’d curled up with just themselves. “Sure you wanna share your boyfriend?” Gothmog quietly joked, lightly pushing Melkor with his elbow. He was pushed back, Thuringwethil making a short huff of mostly feigned annoyance, though both she and Melkor weren’t upset.

 

The four of them sat, and waited the rest of the sunset out, watching the sky change colors and listening to the roar of the surf as the tide changed.

 

Maybe one of them would be dead by the next year. Maybe they’d all be in jail. But for right now, they were here, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> For Swil, who has put up with my weird bullshit for several years now. You’re one of the definite joys of my dashboard and definitely a huge factor in why I still have a Gothmog RP blog as my primary. <3 Hope you enjoyed this disaster. - Gooooothmooog


End file.
